Heartbeats
by WildflowerWhisper
Summary: A series of oneshots to clear my brain of plot bunnies. Serious Klaine shipping. Fluff, maybe smut. We'll see how this goes.
1. Fireflies

A/N: A series of drabbles meant to clear my mind of the rabid plot bunnies.  
>All characters belong to Ryan Murphy and Glee. I write purely for pleasure, and wish for no pain.<p>

* * *

><p>Summer was spent slowly, gently between Blaine and Kurt. Almost every day resulted in some adventure -or misadventure- shared by the two.<p>

In late June, Blaine asked Kurt if he'd like to go camping with him.

"You won't have to break out the Hunter's or your sequined Camelbak. It'll just be the two of us, a pop-up camper, and Lake Michigan,"

Kurt, though equally terrified by the thought of mosquito bites, the impending search for non-pore clogging spf 70, and his father's reaction to the request, was intrigued.

The journey began three days hence. In Finn's pick-up -graciously lent to the pair in exchange for free access to Blaine's supply of records- the boy's set off, camper in tow.

Six rotations of a Best of Andrew Lloyd Webber and ABBA Gold and several stops at the newly discovered and non-Ohioan Panera Bread, Blaine and Kurt found themselves in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

The days passed like honey. Sunsets on the beach with bottles of shadily procured bottles of Pinot Grigio were precluded by Shakespeare festivals and stops at roadside cherry stands. When their digital cameras ran out of memory, they settled on a Polaroid instead of new memory chips. And as the days passed by, Kurt relaxed his vigilant skin care just enough that his cheeks grew bronze from underneath the shade of his Chanel rabbit felt hat.

"Maybe this is how we should spend the rest of our lives," Blaine told Kurt one evening, curled up in his boyfriend's lap beside a crackling fire.

"In theory, that is an excellent plan," Kurt responded, setting out to braid a third strand of Blaine's unbridled curls.

Blaine lay still, reaching out for his plastic goblet of a local Merlot, purchased at a farmer's market with little worry of being ID'd. He looked up past the boughs of the trees overhead, relishing the sound of the mourning doves and the steady rhythm of Lake Michigan and the frisky breeze.

"Lightening bugs," Kurt said suddenly, lifting Blaine's head away from his legs to chase after a glowing dart.

Blaine watched his boyfriend contentedly, admiring Kurt's joy de vivre as much as his ass.

"I love you to pieces," he called, but too softly to garner Kurt's attention. Flustered by the lack of response, he sat up, reaching for the wine bottle. It, too, disappointed him.

Lapping up the last few drops, he stood. As Kurt emptied three glowing captives into his own emptied goblet, Blaine crept up behind him and wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist.

Kurt offered him a grateful hum, and turned in his arms to show him the fireflies.

"Aren't they marvelous? I know it's some chemical...thing. But I've always preferred to believe it's magic,"

Blaine, touching the fluttering wings of one of Kurt's fireflies, smiled. Kurt hadn't realized the excellent metaphor he had crafted; the divine summary of everything that was the two of them. His eyes dipped back up into Kurt's, and he swept the boy's feathery locks from his face. "You're magic,"

Kurt smiled, realizing that they had begun to dance. Though there was no music to which they were swinging their hips, the night's lovely canvas was a worthy substitute.


	2. God

Kurt had never been a religious person. Where some children grew up through the ranks of Sunday School and Bible Study, Kurt had spent his Holy days amongst library copies of Redbook and Harper's. His crucifix was the bite of swollen ankles after six inch heels; his holy water was Evian.

After publicly denouncing the existence of any God in front of the entirety of New Directions and the subsequent fall out of such a claim, his resolution in the matter became dead firm. No low-budget Catholic film on youtube or sidewalk preacher could convince him otherwise.

There was no God.

And then Blaine happened.

Kurt learned reverence, devotion, worship at the hands of Blaine. Where Jesus might have lived within the heart of any standard Lima Titan was a shrine dedicated to the Saint of Blaine.


	3. Refrigerator

Blaine realizes that something's on Kurt's mind when he opens the refrigerator door for the fourth time in a period of three minutes.

The two boys, waiting for Rachel to pick them up en route to the Lima Mall, have perched in the kitchen, sharing a borderline uncomfortable silence.

Blaine opens his mouth, exhaling loudly as Kurt removes a bowl of grapes and then places them back into the fridge. He's somewhat sure that he hears Kurt cuss as the door closes shut.

"Kurt, what's wrong?"

Kurt looks back at Blaine, his chin wavering once in a way that Blaine winces at. This is Kurt's angry face setting in, and Blaine has had one too many experiences with the angry face.

"I don't want to go to the mall,"

This isn't actually a shock to Blaine. Two days prior, at the anxious request of Mr. Hummel, had aided Kurt in the balancing of his checkbook –a task several months overdue. In lieu of the exasperating project's completion, it was discovered that Kurt was entirely and utterly broke.

Kurt had been heartbroken at this realization. His long months of prom dress alterations and flower-sitting for neighbors had been undone as his collection of Alexander McQueen scarves and Dior cologne grew ever larger. What little he had saved for college –that far off leviathan- was no more.

So Blaine was not surprised at this boyfriend's reluctance to shopping. But Blaine knew, deep in his core, that the thought of shopping could not possible trigger such idetest/i.

Blaine steps forward and takes Kurt's head between his hands. When Kurt's chin gives another bob, the taller boy steps back just a little –a precautious move now burned into his memory.

But Blaine stays firm and settles closer, choking back a sigh as his chest brushes against Kurt through their thin, summery wares.

"Really?"

For a moment, Kurt's eyes appear viciously indignant. But they soften as the take in the obvious concern in Blaine's eyes. Years of abuse, of silent contempt sometimes bubble up to the surface, and in the presence of Blaine, Kurt must force these remnants back down.

Kurt inhales, steps back, takes his boyfriend's hand. "Mom died today, nine years ago,"

Blaine, crestfallen on behalf of his beloved, gathers Kurt up into his hold. "I'm so sorry, baby. I wish I had known,"

Blaine is not surprised when he feels tears leak through his t-shirt. He kisses Kurt's head, strokes his shoulders, does everything he can to stop the tears.

"Dad usually stays with me," Kurt murmurs, his voice nearly incomprehensible, "but this year… now he has Carole,"

Blaine squeezes Kurt tighter, knowing how hard it is for Kurt to speak about Carole at all. Long discussions with Kurt have revealed that although he loves his stepmother and respects the bond she now shares with his father, bitterness still lies deep within. Between the layers of warmth and gratitude are steely thorns, hell bent on clinging to only one mother figure.

"We all move on, eventually, Kurt. I'm sure your father misses her… I'm sure he wants to be with you. But moving on… that can be equally lovely,"

Kurt gulps, nods. He steps away, swiping at his tears with clenched fists and whitened knuckles. Blaine is relieved when his hands unclench and reach for Blaine's.

"I'm sorry. It just… it hurts so much. Sometimes I can't breathe, it hurts so much…,"

Blaine leans in and kisses Kurt, stopping the trail of mental anguish. When he pulls away, he whispers "I know".

Kurt whispers back, _"I love you."_

When the two part, they smile gently at each other.

"Were you serious about the mall?" Blaine asks, looking down at his phone to see that Rachel is only two blocks away.

"I'm broke, Blaine,"

Blaine reaches for his back pocket and surruptitously flicks open and drops his wallet onto the ground. Several twenties blanket the tile floor.

"Oh no. That's awful. I've got money to spare,"

Kurt sighs. "Blaine Anderson. You're _such_ a handful.

Blaine grins wickedly and sweeps his boyfriend into his chest. Savagely, he nibbles Kurt's ear, relishing in the taste. "You would know,"

Kurt smiles, and kisses Blaine's roguish grin. "I _would_ know".


	4. Snowglobe

When Kurt first entered his boyfriend's bedroom, he was taken aback by how little it resembled anything he thought Blaine Anderson was.

Football jerseys and basketball posters lined maroon walls. A plaid, flannel bedspread covered a plain twin bed. And on the barren, oak night stand was a copy of the Holy Bible and the Boy Scout Handbook.

"Is this… is this a joke?" Kurt had asked.

Blaine was a little disconcerted, but he understood. Sometimes, he asked himself why it was that he was content to live in a shell that failed to represent any aspect of his personality. And it always happened that he had no answer to that question. It was simply a reality of his life –his life as a singer, a performer, a homosexual.

"No. No, this is my room."

Kurt circled about the room slowly, and Blaine watched the boy from afar. "I've never redecorated. I've just been… adding and adding as time goes on,"

Months passed by, and slowly between the two boys grew that sort of bond –that emphatic synergy- that allowed Kurt to understand.

Blaine's room captured everything he had ever failed to be.

All of the expectations, all of the dreams his parents and family had doled out to him were trapped, imprisoned in this room.

Blaine would never have cared to be a star athlete or Webelo. His bible went untouched. The Playboy magazines given to him by an older cousin lay dismissed and unwanted under his bed.

Kurt saw now that Blaine –dauntless and frank in his public life- had bottled up all of his fears and betrayals not in himself, but into his room.

One day, Kurt rifled through a drawer of Blaine's and found a seemingly empty picture frame. Upon further inspection, Kurt found that the picture inside had merely been turned over. Checking to see that his boyfriend was still away fetching snacks for the two before beginning the Lord of the Rings marathon they had planned, Kurt removed the worn picture and flipped it over.

Inside was a photograph of a young Blaine, dressed in khaki and a floppy fisherman's hat, holding up a plump rainbow trout. Beside him was a far younger version of Mr. Anderson, beaming in exultation towards the camera as he gestured at the fish. The expression on Blaine's face was nothing like his father's. In Blaine's eyes were the beginnings of tears, and he held the fish as far from himself as at all possible. Revulsion was clear in his posture, as if the dead fish was diseased or radioactive.

Kurt smiled a bittersweet smile. Even then, at the age of 5 or 6, Blaine –sweet, compassionate Blaine- knew himself and his values. Kurt wondered then, _"How young are we when we recognize, even unconsciously, just who we are?"_

Kurt's father said he had known that his son was gay since his son was 3. Kurt himself had made the epiphany somewhere between the ages of 9 and 13. And Blaine had said that it wasn't until he had first danced with a girl that he had known for sure.

But perhaps, as evident in Blaine's fermented corpse of a bedroom, people knew themselves inside and out far earlier than they believed. Perhaps, from the very start, people knew just who they were and what they were going to be.

And perhaps people were not actually defined by their failures or made stronger by the things that harmed them. Those failures and disappointments would always travel with them, but had no bearing on their personality, their soul. They were shells of the past, ghosts of yesteryear. They were snowglobes, trapping inside each slight, each deficiency, and each broken heart.


	5. Hurricane

Blaine was funny when he got drunk. Besides becoming incredibly horny and ADHD, he often rambled on about current political issues in the voice of Tom Brokaw. Generally, his newscasts ended with something along the lines of "G-goodnight and good luck with your zipper. There's soap all over it,"

After the whole 'Rachel' incident blew over, and Kurt could trust his boyfriend to drink around females, Kurt was amused by drunken Blaine. Somehow, an inebriated yet charming and intelligent man made for good fun.

Until the night that a Beach Boys concert with Wes and David ended in hysteria.

The boys drove up to Toledo mostly on a whim. It was David's dream to see the Beach Boys before they all died off, and Blaine –in his true Pop-loving spirit- obliged.

Blaine had an Aunt who lived in Perrysburg, and Kurt's father was reasonable enough to see the wisdom in _not_ allowing his son to drive home with three other teenage boys after midnight. Unknown to Mr. Hummel, Aunt Mathilde was away on business, and the boys got the three bedroom ranch to themselves.

Very quickly were the thermos' of wine coolers pulled from the back of Wes' Corolla. A Project Runway marathon was discovered, and the non-sobriety came soon after.

Tom Brokaw made his appearance within the hour.

But as soon as Kara Saun was beat out by Jay, Blaine lost it.

"That's jus not fair. S'not fair," Blaine moaned between sobs. Wes shared a look with Kurt, who sat his own plastic martini glass aside.

"Blaine, what in the hell…" Kurt managed as he pulled Blaine's face to his own.

"She… SHE HAS BETTER TASTE THAN THAT CLOWN!" He was yelling in a nearly unintelligible slur. David, nearly asleep, shot bolt upright. Blaine collapsed sideways and began weeping over an embroidered pillow.

"_What the devil is wrong with him?" _Wes was whispering, quickly snatching the thermos pinned between Blaine's thighs.

Kurt shook his head, attempting to comfort Blaine with long strokes of his hand. "He's never done this," he said, "He's always a happy drunk,"

"Let's take him to bed. Maybe he just needs to sleep,"

David, the burliest of the three coherent boys, heaved Blaine off the sofa and into his arms. Kurt followed numbly as his boyfriend began beating David's chest with the back of his hands. "Q-quilting will get you n-nowhere in the fashion industry. NO ONE WANTS YOUR CRAFT SHOW CRAP!"

"I wonder if someone's drugged him," David -ever the sarcastic one- said to Kurt from over his shoulder. For a moment, Kurt feared that that was true. But he shrugged the thought aside. They'd all been sharing from the same communal thermos', and they hadn't eaten anything at the concert.

When Blaine was deposited onto his designated twin bed, Kurt thanked David and knelt at Blaine's side. Blaine was crying in a fetal position, his back turned to his boyfriend.

"Blaine, talk to me. Why are you upset?"

Blaine shook his mop of dark hair. "I don'.. I don' wanna t-talk to you,"

Kurt bent over Blaine, pulling his hand from his face. "Please?" he whispered.

Blaine quieted his sobs after a moment, and with some coaxing from Kurt, he managed to turn around.

"My sister…," he started, but a fresh sob managed to spur a coughing fit.

Kurt sat Blaine up, finding that his boyfriend was strangely pliant. When Blaine managed to quiet down, he settled into Kurt's side. After a series of deep breaths, he took Kurt's hand.

"My sister s'leukemia,"

Kurt inhaled sharply, shocked. Somehow, seeing Blaine in a fit of grief inspired some courage within him.

"When did you find out?" he said evenly, squeezing Blaine's fingers as he brought them to his chest.

"Two days ago," Blaine whispered, turning his head into Kurt's neck.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm sorry…,"

Blaine cried awhile longer before finally collapsing in exhaustion. Kurt managed to pull away Blaine's shirt and shoes before he finally fell asleep. Eyeing the empty space beside Blaine's bare chest, Kurt pulled a second pillow over onto the narrow bed. He managed his skin care routine in record time and pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants before curling up next to his boyfriend. A few minutes passed as he listened to Blaine's slow breathing. As he too began to drift off, despite his worry over Blaine's state of mind, he felt an arm curl over his waist.

Breathily and hesitantly, Blaine pressed a slow kiss to Kurt's ear and whispered "I love you,"

Kurt, awakened at once by the sensuality of the moment, turned over and took Blaine's unshaven face between his hands.

"Everything's going to be alright," he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to Blaine's eyelids. But deep inside, in the hollowed part of himself that ached with the loss of his mother, he knew that it was cruel to promise something as uncertain as life. Nevertheless, he kissed his boyfriend tenaciously, ignoring the stench of 'Coastal Citrus' on his Blaine's lips.

Blaine, revived at Kurt's touch, returned the favor with lengthy sigh. And Kurt, suddenly filled with a strange need to prove to Blaine just how alright everything would be, hitched a leg around Blaine and knelt over him. Something akin to anxiety appeared in Blaine's glassy eyes, but Kurt ignored it. Instead, he dipped to Blaine's collarbone and worked his way across flesh and muscle to Blaine's shoulder. Blaine latched his hands into Kurt's hair, leaning into the touch as best he could.

"Please, Kurt. Please,"

Kurt had never heard Blaine beg before, and he found it arousing like nothing before. But he was wise enough to deny temptation.

Kurt pulled away and ran his hand through a mane of shaggy curls. "No, baby. You should rest,"

Blaine frowned, but behind the glaze of inebriation came understanding. He nodded once and dropped his hands from Kurt's hair.

Kurt returned to Blaine's side and nestled into him, stroking the back of his boyfriend's neck. Blaine closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Kurt's.

"Everything'll never be okay," he whispered. "That's not how the world works,"

Kurt nodded once, pressing a kiss to Blaine's cheek. "I know, sweetheart. I know,"

And with hands intertwined, they succumbed to sleep.


	6. Coffee

It was funny how Santana asked Blaine out to coffee. Or at least, Blaine thought it was.

"Hey, hair," she has called after a particularly rambunctious party at Rachel's. There hadn't been any alcohol this time, but there had been Disney Scene It. Things had gotten particularly out of hand on Blaine's account.

"Yesh?" he parried, looking for his keys amongst a pile of cushions Kurt had dubbed their 'fort'.

Santana drew closer to him, and for a moment Blaine feared that she was attempting some sexual advance on a known gay.

"We're getting coffee at eight tomorrow. And you'll be there because I have something you want,"

Blaine cocked his head, meeting Santana's eyes. They didn't look at all how he expected them; instead of their normal seductive glare, they were muted and downcast.

"Really? Something_ I_ want?"

"Yeah," she returned, and she stepped even closer. "I know Kurt's birthday list _and_ the password to his recordable journal,"

Blaine giggled, returning to the task at hand. "I can't believe you've stooped so low, my dear. And besides, I'm fairly certain that there's nothing written in there that I don't already know,"

Santana smiled coyly."And the birthday list. You know about that one? Because I figured you'd show a little more enthusiasm after a mention of something crawling with kinky sex toys,"

Blaine froze. "No,"

Santana laughed once. "Oh, yes,"

And so it was settled. Coffee would be held at 11am.

"So," Blaine began, nervously twisting the end of his scarf as he found himself waiting in line for coffee with Santana. "What's the, ahh, occasion?"

Santana kept staring ahead, and muttered something incoherent.

Blaine noticed that she looked a bit disheveled today. The wings of her eyeliner didn't match at all, and the zipper on her skintight black dress was only ¾ of the way zipped. It was completely unlike the Amazonian goddess that Blaine knew her as, and it made him a little uncomfortable. There had always been something about pretty girls that made him itch in an unpleasant way. Perhaps it was because he was afraid they'd get the wrong idea, or maybe it was because the utter lack of chemistry between him and such girls left little in the way of building any sort of platonic relationship. For all his sincerity and stalwartness around guys, he couldn't muster up the same vibes around girls.

At last their order was taken, and Blaine was surprised when Santana covered the tab with several wads of ones that she pulled hastily from her bra. "There," he heard her say, as if she was embarrassed by the act.

"Santana, what's wrong?" he asked, catching her arm as they sidestepped towards the end of the counter.

Santana met his eyes waveringly, and Blaine was shocked to find tears there. "I'm… I'm about as queer as…," But she couldn't go own. Instead, she made a terrible choking noise and gripped Blaine's wrist.

Blaine blinked. He'd always imagined her as a fairly ambiguous person, but never had he guessed that she was ever _full out…_

"Santana, there's nothing to be ashamed of… I don't…," At that point a Medium Drip and a Macchiato were set forth, and Blaine grabbed them before steering Santana to a vacant booth.

"What got you thinking about this?" he asked once the brunette settled into her seat.

"Brittany, that skank," she said quietly. "I've known for months now. It's just… it's only getting harder to deal with…,"

"Well," Blaine said thoughtfully, adjusting himself into his lecturing posture and taking a sip of his drink, "I can see how it can feel that way. Have you talked to Brittany?"

"It's all we talk about anymore," she said, twirling a coffee sleeve in front of herself. "And I hate it,"

"But you still love her?"

Santana nodded earnestly, almost as if offended. "That bitch is my soulmate. But she's in love with wheels,"

To be honest, Blaine didn't know what else to say. Something about lesbians scared him. They scared him more than straight girls did. And here was Santana, potentially the most tenacious and feline of any woman he had ever met, struggling with a devastating conundrum.

_'What would I say to Kurt? What would I say to Kurt?'_ he was chanting mentally, all the while studying Santana's face. But he was drawing blanks. Instead, he turned the tables.

"Why did you come to _me_?"

Santana gave an ironic blink, as if he was the one with a shocking revelation. "You're honestly the most charismatic and confident homo I've ever met. Why wouldn't I come to you?"

Blaine couldn't see it as a compliment. Instead, he felt it a burden.

"I honestly didn't think I had that kind of reputation with you Lima kids,"

"Pshh. All Kurt does is gloat. But let's get back to me, now,"

"Well, what's got your, umm, panties in a bunch?"

Santana blinked again, her face suddenly twisted into confusion. "I'm the skankiest girl in this school, hair. I screw boys like a zombified sex-craven whore. And now… now this? I can't possibly come out after all that,"

Blaine shrugged. "It doesn't matter what your past was like or how your reputation might change. You shouldn't deny yourself or anyone else the truth,"

"Yeah, but look at porcelain. He was run out of McKinley like one of those Spanish Bulls. I mean, guys are one thing; they can beat you up, break you down. Girls are a whole other thing; they're vicious. Like piranhas with a love for tasty lesbian flesh,"

Blaine had to laugh. "Okay, I'll give you that. But you've only got one year, Santana. And you're one of the strongest people I know. You've got no reason…,"

"What if I'm not strong at all?" Santana interrupted, her eyes turned down once more. "What if that was all a rouse, all along? What if I _knew_, all along, just what I was?"

"And the bravado was all some defense mechanism?"

"Yeah. Exactly," Santana looked up, a sparkle in her eye. "You _are_ pretty smart, hair,"

Blaine snorted. "Well, I guess it's possible. But Santana, if that's true than it doesn't really change a thing. It's not as though coming out is going to change your life. I mean, sure, some people may treat you differently, but it's not as though _you_ will truly change,"

Blaine reached across the table to jab at Santana's heart. "This won't change a bit,"

Santana nodded a little. A hint of silence passed in which the two looked around the coffee shop to abate the awkwardness running rampant between them.

"What was it like when you came out?" she asked suddenly, and Blaine caught her eyes.

"It was rough,"

Santana wasn't satisfied. "Explain," she barked.

Blaine adjusted his wayfarers on top of his head before beginning. This wasn't a tale he enjoyed telling, and he had never told it to anyone other than his closest friends. But he saw something in Santana that needed to be sated –sated by wisdom or Dr. Phil bullshit or something…

"I was thirteen, and my best friend was that guy who knew every girl and had kissed almost half of them. He ridiculed me about my lack of expertise in the area of girls almost daily. Soon after came the teasing; the playful jabs about gays and the word 'fag'.

"I didn't really know at that point. I had never been sure of where I stood as far as girls were concerned. I was a nerd, I was shy. And for a long time I believed that I was just in an awkward stage. In fact, being gay was never a subject that I myself or any of my family members had ever approached.

"So Paul –the best friend- took me to one of his older brother's parties. The place was crazy. People were drinking, hooking up, smoking. I swear that I saw people doing cocaine, but Paul told me it was just salt and the guys were trying to look cool. Paul's brother made us drinks, and I got buzzed for the first time in my life.

"And then came the girls. We were undoubtedly the youngest people at the party, but the high school girls were wasted or high enough to find us attractive. They were everywhere; dancing on tables, stripping in people's laps. And slowly but surely they made their way to us.

"One grabbed Paul and took him upstairs. Another two took me to the bathroom,"

Blaine stopped. Santana looked incredulous, but nodded at him to keep going.

"Needless to say, even in my drunkenness I could tell that I wasn't going to enjoy myself. One was undoing my zipper with her teeth when I finally broke down.

"And I broke down, Santana. I ran out of that house so fast. I'm fairly certain I ran over three miles to get home. And when I finally made it back, I cried for hours.

"I don't remember what I was more ashamed of–whether it was that Paul had put me in that situation or that I hadn't been enjoying myself iat all/i. You see, I was too young to recognize that it was probably out of sheer embarrassment and anxiety that I couldn't find those girls enticing. Instead I was convinced that something was wrong with me.

"So I went hunting. I tried so hard to be that average, straight, horny-as-hell middle school kid. For weeks, I peppered myself with swimsuit models and porn. But nothing did it for me,"

"I went to another party, at that point. I hadn't spoken to Paul for a while, but I knew that I was either going to have to make it or break it. And things went a little farther at this one.

"So when the girl was making out with me, practically having dry sex with me, I had my epiphany. If I thought of the men I had seen in those movies, and pretended that they were the ones all over me, I could get it up.

"I ran from that party, too.

"And over time, I grew to accept it. It made sense to me, then. Throughout my whole life, I had been teetering on the edge of that discovery. But I think because my parents were so traditional and my hometown was so conservative that I had to figure it all out with such drastic measures.

"I came out to my cousin online halfway through eighth grade. He, naturally, told everyone he knew in town and it was then that the bullying took off. After a point, I think I broke. I couldn't wake up in the morning knowing that my day was going to be filled with constant reminders about how immoral, unnatural, and unlovable I was.

"So, I transferred to Dalton. And I found love and morality and nature through singing and school and friends who didn't give a damn about who I found attractive. And everything -_everything_, Santana- is just fine for me now."

Santana appeared a little flabbergasted. "That's, like, the kind of thing that's supposed to be on General Hospital… or Maury,"

"Yeah, well," Blaine said, suddenly blushing. "That's real life,"

Santana laughed once, and after a moment, she began laughing far harder. And it wouldn't stop.

"Real life….real life….sucks," she said between gasps for air. People were looking at her from across the café, and Blaine could only stare at her in wonder.

When at last she had finished her impression of an imprisoned velociraptor, Blaine motioned to her coffee. "Are you finished?"

Santana nodded, still beaming wildly.

Blaine felt something for her then –a pang of empathy that changed his view of her entirely. No longer was she some alien creature hell bent on sex and sassiness. She was normal, now. At least, as normal as they came in the McKinley High Glee Club.

And before he could stop himself, he asked, "Hey. Do you want to go shopping?"

For that was the greatest offer of friendship a gay male could extend to anyone.


	7. Sweat

Kurt watched Blaine from offstage, reveling in the pure joy on his boyfriend's face. The way Blaine commanded the stage, the way his eyes sparkled as he bounced from note to note; Kurt was more than just a little turned on by Blaine's artistic prowess. When Blaine's set ended, Kurt reached out to him from behind stage left, beaming brightly.

"You were excellent. You looked so ecstatic,"

Blaine was laughing, reaching for a bottle of water and his boyfriend simultaneously. "I have to say," he told Kurt, panting a little after a solid half-hour of singing, "that that was far more fun than I expected. I mean, I love the Warblers to death, but I never thought that I could have more fun just performing on my own,"

Kurt led Blaine by the hand to the nearest dressing room, praying relentlessly that it was unoccupied. Upon finding it to be so, he tugged Blaine inside and locked the door.

"Woah, Kurt. Where's the fire?"

Kurt laughed at this, whipping around into Blaine's chest and reaching frantically for his face.

"Do you realize how hot you were out there? Do you realize how much you turned me on?"

Blaine's eyes went wide as he met Kurt's lips. Behind Kurt's soft, tender mouth was an eagerness he had never encountered. He pulled away upon realizing just how _hungry _his boyfriend was.

"Kurt, I don't think this is the place...,"

"This is exactly the place,"

Kurt had his hands against Blaine's sweat-soaked t-shirt, pushing him firmly up against the nearest counter. Blaine looked radiant beneath the glow of the dressing room lights, his eyes all full of wonder and his pulse still quick with adrenaline. Despite everything that had happened -the many trips to the hospital to visit Blaine's sister, a car accident that had left Blaine with fourteen stitches and no more BMW for the summer, and the impending search for a college- Blaine had lost none of his spice. "You're a god," Kurt told him before crushing his lips and tongue against Blaine's parted mouth.

"Are you really that turned on by my performing?" Blaine asked him when Kurt ducked to kiss his neck.

"When you were up there... alone," Kurt said between caresses, "all I wanted was to race across stage and tear your shirt off. I wanted every man and woman in that audience to know you were _mine_,"

Blaine had never seen Kurt like this -so wild and... horny. But he liked it, even though it scared him just a little.

By now, Kurt was fumbling with the bottom of Blaine's tee, and Blaine obliged with a gulp. As Kurt's hands ran back up his chest, his slender and oh-so-talented fingers catching in bits of his chest hair, Blaine let out a quiet moan. Kurt offered him a sadistic grin.

"Are you going to... what are you going to do to me?" Blaine squeaked. Kurt didn't answer right away... no, torturing his boyfriend with the hickey he was working into his collar bone was far too consuming a task. When he had finished, and Blaine's hands were trembling against Kurt's ass, he caught Blaine's head in his hands.

"Terrible, unspeakable things, my dear,"

And Blaine believed him.


End file.
